Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sneaking into the Dakota Building the day after Thanksgiving isn’t something Frannie ever imagined she would do, but here she is, quietly unlocking her office. She slips inside and plops her freezer bag onto her desk chair.
Gretchen’s Friendsgiving was a rowdy, chaotic affair, with the strangest potluck dinner she’s ever had. But it was nice too. Though Brad cornered her to ask again about coming to the Dakota, so she really does need bite the bullet and talk to Henry on Monday.
For now, she unpacks the candles Gretchen was happy to part with, along with the colorful turkey centerpiece she, Jonathan, and Gretchen made on Wednesday night. She thinks Bridgette and Michael will get a kick out of it, and maybe want to make one of their own.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Elsa appears behind the closed door, smiling at her in a way that continues to make Frannie weak in the knees.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Frannie says, her heartbeat picking up as Elsa comes closer.
Elsa reaches up and removes Frannie’s hat, tossing it onto her desk. “What are you doing back here?” she chides. She strokes her fingers down Frannie’s frizzy hair to curl against her cheek and pulls her into a chaste kiss. “Not that I mind.”
Their foreheads pressed together, the long line of Elsa’s body prickling against Frannie’s, her breath soft against her lips—it’s still overwhelming, but in the best possible way.
“I wanted to celebrate with you guys,” Frannie says. “I know you can’t … eat, but maybe the candles will smell good?”
Elsa’s low, throaty chuckle alone makes the entire trip down the island worthwhile. “If that’s how you want to spend your Friday.”
“It is,” Frannie insists.
Elsa’s face splits into a wide smile. “Then show me what you got.”
Frannie grins and spins around, reaching for her freezer bag. Elsa helps her slip out of her long black wool coat. Her hands glide down Frannie’s arms and Frannie shivers.
“Do you want to keep it on? Is it cold in here?” Elsa asks.
Frannie shakes her head, still turned away from her. She wants to be smoother than this. But when she turns back to Elsa and lays her jacket over the back of her chair, she’s so captivating in the dim light that any cool Frannie’s ever had abandons her completely.
“No, I just shiver when you touch me,” Frannie admits, the words coming loud and free with barely a wince.
Elsa doesn’t laugh. Instead, her face seems to sharpen, pupils getting a little bigger, smile turning into a smirk. “Oh?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know how hot you are,” Frannie says, rolling her eyes. But Elsa just blinks at her. “I almost stopped breathing all together the first time you were in here. And now when you touch me—”
And then she’s up against the file cabinets, Elsa’s mouth sealed to hers, thigh between her legs, hands absolutely everywhere.
When Elsa breaks from her mouth to drag kisses along her jaw, Frannie opens her eyes and finds the lights flickering above them.
The very air around them feels charged, static, exciting.
“You have a way with words,” Elsa says huskily against her ear.
“Yeah?” Frannie whispers, head tipping back as Elsa’s hand climbs up beneath her shirt.
“It’s very sexy,” Elsa insists.
“That’s nice,” Frannie breathes out, squirming against Elsa’s thigh as the ghost’s clever fingers trip up Frannie’s stomach, slipping below the exceedingly unsexy cotton bra she threw on this morning.
“It really is,” Elsa says, the soft pads of her fingers circling one of Frannie’s nipples.
Frannie loses hold on her control, hips grinding down, a low moan slipping from her lips. Elsa’s eyes darken even further, and she presses closer, hiking Frannie up on her thigh—
There’s a bang outside the closed office door.
“Shit,” Elsa whispers.
Frannie holds onto her, hands curling into the back of her black turtleneck. “Don’t you dare disappear,” Frannie mutters.
Elsa laughs softly, both of their heads turned toward the door.
Henry’s upstate at a friend’s place for a very swanky Friendsgiving, and no one else has access to the office, except for maintenance.
He’s never had any maintenance done in here before.
It would be just Frannie’s luck for today to be the first time.
But after a heady, tense minute, the door knob remains still and no one comes in. Slowly, they look back at each other, Elsa’s hand still cupping Frannie’s breast, Frannie’s fingers still twined into Elsa’s shirt, both of their mouths swollen.
“I’ll conduct a sweep this weekend,” Elsa says, squeezing Frannie once before slipping her hand back out of Frannie’s bra and shirt.
Frannie can’t fight her corresponding whine, and Elsa smiles, leaning her beautiful neck down for one last kiss. “The kids will come find us sooner rather than later.”
Frannie can only blink as Elsa steps back from her. She actually has to shake her head to clear it.
“A sweep of what?” she asks, adjusting her green sweater while Elsa goes to inspect the freezer bag.
“A sweep of the building to find somewhere we can be truly alone.”
Frannie stares at Elsa as she glances up from the freezer bag. A sweep to figure out where they can—
“It’s not an orgasm, but this cheesecake looks divine,” Elsa says, tugging the Tupperware out of the bag.
Frannie cackles, taking it from her with only lightly trembling hands.
Michael and Bridgette choose to appear behind Elsa mere seconds later, so Frannie can’t respond. Instead, the potential for more simmers in her belly the rest of the afternoon. Elsa’s attracted to her. Overcome by her. Planning clandestine opportunities for her, with her.
Sitting with the kids on the office floor, both of them helping Michael and Bridgette cut out construction paper shapes to make their own turkey, then making out against the filing cabinets again before Frannie heads home—this thing between them is actually real.
“Frannie?”
The street is blessedly quiet and cold. Frannie shuffles herself around, trying to slip into her coat and keep her phone clamped to her ear. Where’s a helpful pair of ghost hands when you need them?
“Sorry, hi,” Frannie mumbles to her mom, scurrying down the block and around the protruding wall of the bar’s street-side seating area.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Mom asks, sounding truly concerned.
It’s nine PM on a Saturday night.
“Only a little,” Frannie says, shaking her head fondly.
“The damn time difference always gums me up,” Mom says a little petulantly.
It’s still Saturday night in Denver, but whatever.
“So, no one’s dead, then?” Frannie asks teasingly.
“Knock on wood right now.”
Frannie reaches out and raps quickly on the wooden structure of the seating area. The person on the other side of the foggy plastic window glances at her, and Frannie winces, pulling herself closer to the wall of the building.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Mom says.
Frannie wilts against the wall, shoving her free hand into her pocket. “I’m good,” she says honestly.
Mom hums down the line. “That’s great. What’s making you good? Details, my darling.”
“Oh, nothing specific,” she says, Elsa’s eyes bright in her mind. “Henry’s going to holiday parties every other night, so I’m actually off relatively early most days.”
She doesn’t leave early, but she’s not working, and it’s been … wonderful.
“I’m glad. That man has no boundaries,” Mom says sternly.
“It’s always quiet in December. I’m looking forward to coming home to see you,” Frannie says to head her off.
She is, and she isn’t too. She’s finding the pull of spending the holidays away from home particularly strong for the first time in years. But she couldn’t do it to her folks. It would break their hearts.
“We’re so looking forward to having you here too,” Mom says brightly. “And … anyone else you might want to bring along.”
Frannie hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but they pop open, staring out at the narrow one-way street and the frosted-over cars. “Mom,” she starts.
“Just if whoever’s been keeping you so busy lately wanted to come, too, we’d be open to it, that’s all,” Mom says casually, though the lilt in her voice entirely gives her away.
“I’m not …” Frannie trails off.
Because she is, seeing someone. She’s just not someone anyone else can see. And she certainly can’t bring her home for the holidays.
“I know, I know, I shouldn’t press. We’re supposed to let our adult children come to us, not pester them. NPR would be disappointed in me.”
“NPR’s doing features on not helicoptering your adult kids?”
“I have never been a helicopter parent,” Mom says immediately. Frannie waits. “Except when you were in the eighth grade and those girls were making fun of your hair and you cried all the time, and—you know what, fine,” she says while Frannie snickers into the phone. “Don’t tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” The words feel like they knock her teeth as they leave her lips.
“All right.” Mom waits. And waits. And waits.
“Anyway,” Frannie says slowly, shaking her head and rocking on her feet. Her nose is getting cold. “I should go back to the bar, but I can’t wait to see you, and I demand the eighth-grade treatment, all right? Activities every day, or no deal.”
Mom’s delighted laugh and agreement carry Frannie back through the crowded bar and into the slightly sticky blue booth in the back corner.
“Everything okay?” Gretchen asks, head tilted where she’s tucked beneath Brad’s arm.
“All good. Just Mom inconveniently checking in,” Frannie half-shouts.
“Damn, that’s worse than my parents,” Jonathan says, before downing the rest of his beer.
“Jon was just about to tell us his big news,” Brad says, smiling at Frannie.
Gretchen leans forward to rest her head in her hands, staring eagerly at Jonathan. Brad rubs her back, eyes going absurdly soft. Frannie really needs to talk to Henry for him.
“So, I’m gonna star in an indie film,” Jonathan says, his cheeks already pink, eyes bright, and smile absurdly shy.